


These Masks We Wear

by Vaellean



Series: Of Justice and Policy [1]
Category: DCU, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: But I swear it's necessary., Gen, Otherwise League stomps....., Profanity in General, Racial Profanity, The Vongola might just be a little OP...., by not so nice people, by pretty much everyone haha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-10-02 01:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10205582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaellean/pseuds/Vaellean
Summary: For the greater good, the role of the villain must be played.Or, the Heroes meet the Vongola under less than pleasant circumstances.





	1. Chapter 1

_**These Masks We Wear** _

_Orphanage of St. Clair, Collinsville – Illinois, January 8th_   _2017_

At approximately 4500 meters away and as the Bio-ship rocketed across the treeline, the building finally came into view. Four stories tall with an old country-style design, formed of warm red brick and strong wooden arches holding aloft a newly refurbished shingle tiled roof and accompanying spire. Then encompassing it all, a massive glittering dome of transparent solid ice.

Narrowing his eyes at the sight of the anomaly, Dick zoomed in and enlarged the visual they had on the building. Immediately, they spotted Superman already at the scene, swooping in and out and landing blow after blow against the dome's lightly gleaming shell. Noticing their approach, he slowed for a moment and gestured towards a large clearing near a smattering of cars and trucks at the side of the road, police lights flashing as news crews scrambled to get their reporters in gear.

Acknowledging the space for what it was, Dick moved set the ship down, circling above the clearing first before beginning the descent. He didn't bother with the camouflage, assuming that awareness of the Team's existence was now more or less public knowledge, after the events with the Reach. Which was both a good thing and a not so good thing, depending on how you saw it.

It was convenient that it they no longer needed to hide their activities, but were no longer as free, regarding the range of their operations. Now, they had to abide under the joint-international laws regarding superheroism and metahuman accountability, just like the rest of the League. Thankfully, they were currently considered to be in at least marginally good standing thanks to their major contributions in revealing the Reach's true intention towards Earth and the alien race's subsequent attempt at destroying it. Marginally, of course.

Feeling the ship touch down, Dick unstrapped himself from his seat and opened a port at the base of the hull. Exiting through the opening alongside the rest of Alpha team, he found Superman already waiting for them near the bow of the ship, brows furrowed and breathing air into his palms. Watching their approach, the man of steel nodded towards them, shaking out his hands as he addressed them all.

"Nightwing. Wondergirl. Kid Flash." He smiled softly. "Good to see you."

"Right back at you, big guy." Dick responded, returning the man's smile with one of his own. "Alpha team was nearby when we heard about the dome coming up. What's the situation? Any progress getting through?"

Clark shook his head. "No, nothing yet." He responded tiredly, his tone hinting at just the slightest touch of frustration. "I'm thinking it might be magical. Heat vision didn't work, and neither did force as I'm sure you already saw me trying. Density shifting might work, but we'd need one of the Martians here to try it. It's also ridiculously cold."

"Have you tried going under? Bypass the dome with a tunnel underground?" Bart suggested, slipping his goggles down onto place. "Back in the future-past, we used to build tons of underground passages to avoid Reach patrols that were trying to mode us, maybe it could work here?"

Not for the first time, Dick saw concern flicker across the faces of everyone present. Really, as much of a big ball of sunshine he was most of time, there was no denying that the latest addition to the speedster family had more than a few issues. Not that that was particularly surprising considering his history, but it was still tragic nonetheless.

Like seriously, "Scavenger Rights"? Dick didn't need to have grown up in Gotham to know exactly what that phrase entailed. Really, he just hoped Bart would feel comfortable enough sooner or later to talk about those issues with someone he could trust like Barry or Jaime.

Well, on second thought, maybe not Jaime. That kid did vicarious guilt almost as well as a Bruce, so probably not the best idea for his best friend to tell him how much of a living hell his life happened to be back in the future all of a sudden.

After a moment, Clark shook his head. "Sorry Kid Flash, X-ray vision shows that the entire building is surrounded by ice, foundations and basement levels included. It's actually more of a sphere than a dome. As for any civilians trapped inside, most of them seem to hiding away somewhere inside the building. Hopefully safe, but I'd rather not take any chances. We need into that dome as fast as possible."

Taking in the information, Dick nodded and then turned towards Cassie. "Wondergirl, you have the most experience with magic out of all us here, do you think you can check out the dome with Kid Flash to see if it actually is sorcery based and if so, what sort of magic it might be made out of?"

"I can handle that." Cassie smiled. "I might not be able to find out exactly what magic it might be, but I can definitely see if it's magic or not. And if it is, I think it might be better to call in Zee for help Nightwing. She's definitely a way better sorcery expert than I am, and if anyone know magic it's her."

"Alright, I'll be sure to notify her then the moment you guys find something. As for you Kid Flash, I want you to run a full diagnostic scan of the orphanage and its perimeter. See if you can get a signal from any of the people that happen to be stuck inside, so we can determine their situation. Also, under no circumstances, are you to touch the ice. Judging from Superman's report, it's probably far beyond Antarctic level temperatures and I don't want to have to explain to the Flash why his partner all of a sudden has a few less fingers than he used to. Understand?"

"Loud and clear, Mon Capitan!" Bart saluted, features coy, yet his eyes - focused.

"Alright. Then we'll meet back here in twenty. While you two are off, Superman and I will be heading back into the Bio-ship to see if we can't get into contact with any more Leaguers that might be able to lend us a hand. I'll also be looking into the Orphanage's history and city files to see if there might be a lead as to why the Orphanage in particular might have been attacked."

"Sounds like a plan." Bart replied, sending a nod towards both Dick and Clark both before nudging Cassie to follow. The two quickly taking off at the sound of Bart's jeering. "Beat you there, slow poke!"

Turning back, Dick and Clark headed to the Bio-ship, leaping up into the craft through the opening in the hull and heading to work on their respective duties. Within moments, Dick had Clark a feed with the Watchtower while he himself began combing through the web for information on St. Clair's.

Then only a few minutes into the search, the ship released a notification. Someone was approaching the ship from down the driveway. Rising from his seat, Dick made his way towards the porthole, before dropping his head through the opening. "Hello officer." He smiled.

With a less than manly shriek, the sheriff jumped, hand shooting towards his gun, before heaving a sigh at the sight of him. With a withering look, the officer straightened his back and extended his hand. "Sheriff Tolmy. Nightwing? Yes?"

Flipping down out of the ship, Dick nodded, taking the offered hand. He smiled. "That's right. May I help you Sheriff?"

The other man frowned, features growing stern. "Why yes you can son. I want it gone." He stated, cocking his head towards the dome. "And the people inside – safe, as soon as possible. The damn reporters are already doing their god-awful best at scaring the town, and the longer that dome is here, the worse it'll get. Do you think you can do that for me?"

Brows furrowing, Dick replied. "Already on it Sheriff. We have two other members running reconnaissance around the area, and we're calling in a few more hands even as we speak. We will get those people out of there."

The sheriff nodded in response, posture relaxing just the smallest of fractions. "Thank you son. Now, if there's anything at all you hero folk need don't hesitate to ask us. For now, we'll just be down the road, keeping those nosy reporters at bay. I swear their like rabid -."

"GET AWAY FROM HER YOU BASTARD!"

**-(7)(7)(7)-**

_Orphanage of St. Clair – Interior_

With a gentle pull, Takeshi slipped Kintoki from the body of yet another Tainted, the child igniting in a burst of soulless white as the little boy fell, a heap of shrieks and screams spasming at his feet. Stepping over the poor child, the swordsman took a breath, feeling his emotions fighting within him as rapidly moved to dodge a knife to his back. This time, it was a girl, younger than the boy that he had just slain, covered in blood and jagged white cracks that lined her skin. The tell-tale signs of a rudimentary Tainted.

Without pause, he swung up his blade and sliced clean through her throat, not bothering to watch her crumple as he marched down the hall, the sound of screams filling his ears, both human and those no longer. Reaching the first door, he immediately brought Kintoki down across the Tainted staff member attempting to rush him, before pushing past the woman and into the room.

Rapidly processing the scene before him, he delivered a swift kick to the Tainted strangling a fellow boy at the center of the room, ducking down quickly to ensure the other child's uncorrupt status before raising a hand and sending a pulse of Rain flames out into the air. Three quick thuds quickly followed suit, the hearts of all three Tainted, whom had all emerged like insects across the room upon his arrival, slowed to a halt in the passing of a second, their bodies writhing and twitching sporadically like bugs knocked unto their backs.

Pressing a hand to his comm, and kneeling down to place a hand on the now unconscious boy, Takeshi spoke. "I have another one. 2nd floor, boys section, room 201. Status: Injured, but no trace of corruption. Trace of Flame signature also detected. Deploying Mosca for transfer."

"Acknowledged." Spanner quickly replied. "Go ahead Yamamoto, we're ready on our end."

Digging into his breast pocket, Takeshi pulled forth a pill. Siphoning a small portion of his Flame reserves into the capsule, he then tossed the tablet across the room watching absently as it exploded in a haze of blue and revealing a newly activated mosca. Without preamble, the machine scoped up the unconscious child, placing him within it's open body cavity before closing it's form and marching towards Tsuna's location.

Silently, he gritted his teeth. That was only the fourth non-Tainted he'd found so far, and the eighth they'd had found in total since arriving, out of the total 78 children and workers inhabiting the orphanage. It ate at him to know that if they had only managed to arrive just a little bit earlier they likely would have been able to save so many more.

Still, eight was better than none and hopefully there would be more to find. He just had to act quickly. With a thinning of his lips, Takeshi strode from the room. Combing through the rest of the boy's section of the orphanage, Takeshi was able to locate three more untainted by the time he had cleared the area. Two of them, both barely 7 hidden inside a closet that they had both shared, and another older boy into his adolescence, standing traumatized within his locked room after having killed his Tainted roommate.

As he descended the stairs, there was a buzz on his comm. "Yamamoto." Hayato began. "We have three Tainted making a break for the Tenth's barrier outside, all with higher concentrations of corruption flame within them. Intercept and eliminate all of them before they make contact, otherwise they'll melt right through the field and begin infecting outsiders."

Frowning beneath his mask, Takeshi frowned. "Got it. I'm heading out now."

With a burst of speed, Takeshi raced towards the entrance, throwing open the large double doors and extending an arm. With a pulse of rain flames, all three Tainted crumpled to the ground, two dead in an instant as the blood in their bodies ceased their circulation. The third, still crawled onward, tears streamed down the sides of her face, arms reaching out for the heroes to help.

And unlike flame users, they were unable to see the cracks on her skin.

With desperation clear upon their features, Kid Flash and Wondergirl, of which he had been informed, struck furiously and futilely against the side of the dome, frost already crawling along the sides of their arms and legs and bodies. Watching as the Heroes continued to beat against the ice, Takeshi observed as the one known as Kid Flash, Bart Allen, finally pulled back, his features clearly pained and his fingers unmoving. Looks like even Speedsters could get frostbite it seemed, nor phase through Tsuna's Dying Will Ice, if all the vibrating the boy had been doing earlier was any indication.

Walking forward, and easily ignoring the heroes' muted screams, Takeshi readied his Kintoki, thinking then, just for the briefest of moments, about just how terrifyingly used to all this he had become. He didn't particularly relish in the act of killing, in fact, much like Tsuna and the rest of their Famiglia, he abhorred it. But he also knew, just like the rest of them, that it was a necessary evil, and that in many cases, there was simply no other way to end the conflict.

This, tragically, was simply another such circumstance. All Tainted, regardless of gender, status, race or age, needed to be put down. Contained, else the corruption that consumed them would ensnare more of the weak-willed and vulnerable. They were Castello's living plague, sentient, capable of thought yet mindless in their inability to seek anything more than to expand their ranks and to complete their oppressor's will.

Re-establishing his resolve, Takeshi gazed upon the struggling Tainted. His stomach turning at the energy he felt wafting from her form, at the monstrosity he could feel just below the surface. And yet still, from deep within his chest, his heart ached at the sight of what was once, clearly, a beautiful little girl.

He raised his blade.

**-(7)(7)(7)-**

_Orphanage of St. Clair – Exterior_

Her arms were numb, caked with frost. Her hands locked into fists, stinging horribly from the cold, and yet none of that mattered as she struck again and again in a desperate single-minded bid to break through the barrier between her and those children. She didn't even realize she was screaming, her cries of rage and desperation intermingling with those of Bart's at her side, their gazes fixed upon the terrified and tear-stained expression of the struggling little girl and her would-be killer standing above her.

It had all happened so fast.

She had been examining the ice, letting her fingers slowly trace along it's shell to get a sense of it's composition. All forms of magics had a particular feel to them, she knew, given her lessons regarding the better part of sorcery with Wonder Woman. Themysciran, Dark, Light, Egyptian, Haitian, Celtic even just standard witchcraft all had a signature with which they could be identified. But this barrier had none that she was familiar with. It felt like magic, and yet not, unnatural and also like it perfectly belonged.

And then Bart had started up, his cries directing her to the sight of three wounded children fleeing from the central building of the orphanage, their clothes torn and bodies lined with cuts and bruises. They were screaming towards her, towards the two of them, racing forward as quickly as they could, features pleading, begging for help.

Cassie's heart had squeezed at the sight of them, and then promptly stopped as a look of sheer terror overtook their features after a quick glance back, their motions now suddenly moving in earnest as another figure emerged from the building's wide double doors.

A Mobster? She had initially thought at first, taking in the sight of his plain suit and tie, the only hint of colour, the light blue trim that lined the edges. The Mob was behind this?

But before she could even think of another thought further, she watched as the man he raised his arm, and all three children tumbled to the dirt. Immediately, Cassie was autopilot. Her body moving of it's own accord to strike against the ice, seeking no longer to identify it's what it was, but rather to break through it. Almost simultaneously, Bart joined in on her assault on the dome, features now hard and body vibrating wildly in an attempt to phase through.

She watched in growing desperation as the mobster slowly began his approach, noting the katana he held at his side and his eyes fixed solely on the last and still breathing, brave little girl.

"GET AWAY FROM HER YOU BASTARD!" she roared, putting in all the force that she could muster into slamming her shoulder against the side of the dome, again and again and again.

Gracing their efforts with just the barest of acknowledgments, the swordsman brought up his blade. Tall and lean and swathed in black, the mobster wasted no time in delivering the killing blow, driving the sword right through the little girl's back and into her heart.

Almost as if the sword had struck her as well, Cassie reared back after the deed had been done. The child reaching out for them one final time, before the mobster twisted his blade, and the girl fell still with a silent thud.

Stunned, Cassie watched in silence as the man gently withdrew his sword from the final cadaver, finally turning then to provide the heroes his undisputed attention, head cocking to the side and allowing them full vision of his weeping venetian mask, it's dark blue tears caked with blood.

Already aware of Nightwing's presence behind her, Cassie forced herself to calm, willing her throat to swallow and her lungs to breath. She turned towards him then, her features pale from cold and shock, but now also lined with rage fierce determination. "We need backup, now."

Without a word, Nightwing grabbed the still clammy Bart, and raced back towards the Bio-ship, an officer of some sort right on his heels. Then with a crash like thunder, she knew Superman was back into the fray, moving so fast it was almost impossible to see as he once again began his assault on the dome. His actions, no doubt fueled by the righteous fury that she now strengthening her own after such a horrifying display.

Taking a few steps back, she too, readied her form and charged once again, feeling the cold snap at her skin. They had to get in there. There was no question about it now. There was no time to lose. They needed in. The wall had to come down, and when it did, she was going PULVERIZE that piece of shit mobster…

**-(7)(7)(7)-**

_Orphanage of St. Clair – Interior: Spire_

It was an exercise in futility. They would never get through.

Tsuna's Dying Will ice was unlike anything these people, these Heroes, had ever and will ever encounter for the rest of their days. A wall of solid energy, formed not of molecules or atoms or mystical power, but rather the very essence of existence itself, from the firm and unchanging nature of the Tri-ni-sette policy. It could not be broken. It could not be melted. No external, or even internal force could affect the ice, beyond the very powers that formed it.

Only Dying Will, could shatter Dying Will, and these Heroes had no such ability.

He leant back against the window frame, stroking Leon absently as he observed the mighty Leaguers converge en masse around the dome that stood before them. Reborn let out a scoff. Try as they might, greater numbers would do them no good, though he could certainly applaud them for their effort. It was certainly quite the sight to see, he had to admit; the dazzling array of lights, colours and heavy weaponry being thrown against the dome forming a stunning and beautiful cascade fit for any museum.

Still, they could not to let this one instance of victory cloud their perceptions. There would be consequences for an act this overt, necessary as it may have been. The League was not to be underestimated. After all, they wouldn't always have an impenetrable wall of 'pseudo' ice standing between them. The Vongola would need to be prepare.

Thus it was fortunate, that due to Byakuran and his vast experience dealing with the matters of other parallel worlds, they already had the overwhelming advantage in terms of information. They were well aware of the secret identities, powers and histories of all the Heroes and Villains of whom they considered the most troublesome of opponents.

Bruce Wayne, with his massive fortune, supposedly supreme intelligence, pathological paranoia and, according to Byakuran, the simple fact that he was "The Batman" (as if that could possibly be relevant in any plausible way whatsoever), was identified to be the first and foremost threat to their operations. With an astounding technical and mechanical track record, proficiency in nearly every plausible, non-emotional skill and with enough semi-illegal spyware scattered across both local and international waters to give him eyes and ears in almost every country across the globe (and Verde had checked. Twice), this traumatized orphan was clearly not to be underestimated.

And the best part? Despite his lone wolf persona, Reborn couldn't help but snort, the "caped crusader" rarely ever worked alone. Thus, there were the rest of his equally batty associates that also had to be taken into account: Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake and even his bloody butler, Pennyworth. All of them would also require watching, in addition to some the more notable members of their rogues gallery: Bane, Catwoman, The Court of Owls, Ra's Al Ghul, Lex Luthor and especially, the Joker.

No one likes a Wild Card, particularly one as mad as that one. 

Following them, would be the Speedsters: Barry Allen, Bart Allen, Wally West, Eobard Thawne; all for their ability to essentially subvert the laws of physics by simply existing. They would be incredibly difficult to handle for most Vongola members with the exception of Rain and Mist users alone, given their utterly ridiculous, faster than light, speeds of motion.

Then came the mages and mystics: Zatanna, Dr. Fate, Felix Faust, The Amazons, whose powers all worked in ways the Family had still yet to properly understand. They had only managed a marginal amount of testing thus far concerning the interactions their flame abilities had with the mystical arts, and while they may have managed a few important breakthroughs, there was still much to learn and prepare for. The dark arts and spiritual magics being a very particular concern.

Still, it should be manageable. So long as they kept their heads about them. Besides, they had yet to find anything in this world, magical, natural or otherwise that Storm flames could not eat through in a matter of seconds. Nor Rain slow and Sky petrify, so hopefully the same would apply to any other magical conjurations they would happen to encounter.

As for the rest of the superhumans, statistically speaking, most should be non-issues. The majority could be handled like any other opponent they had faced before, but with the added bonus of being completely susceptible to the full brunt of their flame powers. Additionally, due to either their biology, psychology or powers in general, a fairly large number of supers had clear and obvious weaknesses that could be easily exploited, either on the go, or with just a decent modicum of effective preparation.

The Martians for example, he thought absently, catching sight of the famed Martian Manhunter attempting to shift through the dome. And the Kryptonians, he added, watching then as Mr. Kent, his cousin and his younger clone came crashing down in a united dive attack into the top of the barrier. Though countering them would probably be trickier than most.

There was a buzz in his comm. "Reborn speaking. All upper faculty levels cleared of Tainted, only three survivors found." He casually reported, sharp eyes already noticing movement in his periphery.

"Understood." Gokudera responded. "But I'm afraid we have a situation. The remaining Tainted have given up fighting inside the orphanage. The increased presence of the Leaguers outside seems to have shifted their priorities. They're all making a break for the barrier outside." The request was clear.

Leon already shifting within his grasp, Reborn took position atop the open window. Bringing the sniper's scope up to his eye, he took aim. "Done."

"Yamamoto will handle those escaping towards the front, please handle the sides and rear."

Reborn started firing without preamble, shooting three down in less than a second. He shifted aim; then down went a fourth, a fifth, and then just because he could and because he wouldn't be him if he didn't, he fired a shot just inches past one younger of the Heroes' heads. Beetle, he believed. He smirked slightly.

"Whoops," he said aloud, feeling just the slightest bit sadistic. "Spooked them."

**-(7)(7)(7)-**

_Orphanage of St. Clair – Exterior_

Without even thinking, Bart raced forward, diving straight into Jaime's side just as the bullet blasted past, streaked in yellow and exploding on impact against the tree that stood behind them. Silence followed, the shock of the sudden realization causing all within the area to pause and re-evaluate the situation.

The shot had slipped past the ice. The enemy could reach them, but not the other way around.

"SNIPER! EVERYONE WATCH YOURSELF!" Canary roared, her powers amplifying the distance of her cry. With a huff, Bart quickly pulled Jaime to his feet, and the two raced to put some distance between themselves and the dome.

"Wait! No! I have an idea!" The Atom suddenly cried. "Look for an exit hole! If the bullet came from the inside there should be an opening, we could slip through if we shrink!"

"He's right!" Bumblebee agreed. "Quickly, we need to find it!"

As the surrounding metas moved to scan the barrier, Bart stopped for a moment to let Jaime catch his breath. He stared, petrified at the sight that lay before him, hands clenching and unclenching as they hung loosely at his sides. It was a massacre. Children and caretakers cut down left and right, others falling one after another, shots planted square between their brows, their features frozen in fear and in pain. He could feel the helplessness gripping at his chest.

And the memories came without relent. The insectoid ships darkening the skies, the Reach patrols tearing apart friends and families, a blue-clad tyrant and death all around him. Without his knowledge, his hands had reached up to grasp at his neck, at the collar he suddenly felt coiled around his throat, stealing his breath away.

He was helpless. They all were. Unable to do a thing now just as they unable to then. As the monsters from space beat them and whipped them for not working hard enough. Not moving fast enough. Having their way with anyone they saw fit. Killing all they deemed expendable, or too tedious to leave alive.

"Bart?" A voice spoke. "Hermano? Are you okay?"

Almost instantly, he spun his heels, his eyes growing wide at the sight of the massive Blue Beetle looming above him. But before he could so much as react, the gargantuan brute shed his mask, and placed a hand atop his shoulder.

A pause, and he could breath again.

Jaime was looking worried, his eyes darting from the fighting to Bart himself, clearly unsure of what he should do. Taking a few deep breaths, Bart gave his best friend ( _not enemy_ ) a shaky nod.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." He said, still trying settle his nerves. He tried for a smile. "No worries Hermano, everything's totally crash haha."

Dropping his arm, Jaime hummed disbelieving, but let the excuse slide. For now, clearly. Bart could already see the vicarious guilt and concern written all over the other teen's face. Whelp, that'll be fun, he thought grimly. Nothing he'd rather do, than talk about issues after a mission gone wrong, especially his own.

Fervently, he shook his head. No! No! Now was not the time to be wallowing in his traumas. He could deal with those later (or never, his brain corrected. Yeah, never sounded good). Right now, he had to focus. Lives were at stake, and unlike in the future-past, he wasn't helpless. Not here. Not anymore.

Immediately, he took stock the situation. From what he could see, the Atom and the others had not been able to locate the opening for the initial shot, and were now seemingly rotating between attacking the barrier itself and trying to provoke the unseen sniper into making another shot.

Moments later, the shooter obliged, shot rocketing out from the top of the orphanage spire and aimed directly at the feet of the Atom himself. Bart reacted immediately, racing forward just the as the bullet slipped through the dome. Parting ways with Jaime, he gently swiped the already shrinking Atom mid-leap to Bumblebee's palm and sprinted right towards the spot from the bullet had emerged.

The hole was already halfway-closed, the ice from within having already sealed any chance of entry. Bart cursed, he would have to be faster next time..

He reached for his comm. "Everyone, try and bait another shot. We nearly got through the last. We need just one more."

**-(7)(7)(7)-**

_Orphanage of St. Clair – Interior_

"Reborn, could you please stop antagonizing the heroes please? They nearly got in again with that last shot, and I really would rather not have to deal with Tainted metas again any time soon." Tsuna groused, stepping out from the orphanage, mosca in tow. According to Jaeger, they wouldn't be able to transfer the untainted back to base from within the building. The heavy concentration of corruption flames on the inside would interfere with the Vindice's flame of Night too much to make travelling safe.

The young Don received a childish "Tch.", in response over his comm.

"Besides, we're done here now. We have all the uncorrupted children and workers we could find, we'll finish off the stragglers all at once before we leave. Takeshi, Hayato, Reborn, rendezvous at the building's front entrance."

"Understood Tenth!"

"Be right over Tsuna!"

"…Hn."

Dropping his hand from the communicator, Tsuna let out a sigh, subconsciously reinforcing the barrier so that no remaining tainted could try and melt through. He frowned. In addition to the countless lives lost and taken here today, they had also lost another piece to the reformed Tri-ni-sette. Now, Castello needed only two more pieces to complete Mare set of Seven, the Mare pendants of Sun and Cloud, both of which were in the Vongola's possession.

That meant that he would be moving onto the newly chosen Arcobaleno very soon, because, knowing him, he would probably aim to save Tsuna's family for last. Made things more fun that way for him, Tsuna thought grimly. After all, what was a game without an opponent to play with?

A scoff. And oh, how he so loved to play with them. Why he loved it so much, he even decided to steal their name as he went about his initial killing sprees, wiping out Famiglia after Famiglia in his search for the scattered Vongola pendants. Now over half the underworld thought them monsters, villains, legends, and now with this particular instance, a reality.

It didn't escape Tsuna that they had essentially confirmed to the world that the Vongola existed, and that they were clearly just a vile and wretched as Castello had portrayed, butchering children without care or remorse. He sighed. He could say that the was shocked at the development, but he knew that it had been bound to happen sooner or later. Had always known really, ever since he had heard of what Castello had done.

Now, not only did Castello make off with another piece of the Tri-ni-sette, he had also decided to set them up for their Grand Debut. The fact that it would happen at an orphanage filled with innocent children was simply a stroke of luck on Castello's part, and horror on their own.

It hurt. It always hurt, every single time he had to look any Tainted in the eyes, see who they used to be, and be forced to put them down. To listen to them curse him and his family, to fanatically throw their lives away for the sake of a man, a monster, who thought them nothing more - no, who thought them even less than the ants beneath his feet.

But at least in death, they would have their solace, their spirits speaking, for the just the smallest of moments, not in hate or fury - but in relief and encouragement. And while the world may scorn them for what they may seem to do, for the atrocities they may seem to have committed, his Family would never fold.

Besides, he thought, resigned but also strangely relieved, it was better this way. By labelling them as Villains, this new world had given them permission to act like Villains. Free from the Law, from public opinion, granting them the power to do what needed to be done without fear of any sort of backlash. They would fight. They would kill. And they would do whatever it took, to bring an end to the Rovino and secure the Tri-ni-sette.

They would have also come into conflict with the League eventually anyway, seeing as unlike them, the Heroes couldn't exactly tell whether or not a person was Tainted, so no loss there either way.

A wave of cold struck him from the back. "The portal is ready, Don Vongola." Jaeger spoke, tipping his head just the slightest degree. "You may move the children as you will."

Nodding towards the Vindice, Tsuna replied. "Good. We'll begin transport right away." He reached for his comm. "Spanner, how are the children's vitals."

"With the exception of a few broken bones and a number of concussions, all are stable and should be safe to jump."

"Excellent." Then with a gesture, Tsuna motioned for the gathered mosca to enter the portal, their massive hulking forms vanishing quickly one after another into the inky black void of the flame of Night. Glancing upwards, he locked gazes with the Heroes observing them from afar, their features a scowl and eyes shining with rage.

Clearly, the more intuitive of their numbers had already written off getting in through the barrier as an impossible outcome, given the way they had reluctantly shifted from seeking a way in, to scanning and testing his ice. Another fruitless endeavor, at least, as far as he knew now. Still, they would need to be observed, in case counter measures were required.

The other, far more stubborn lot, were still trying to force their way in, even despite almost fifteen minutes of non-stop attacks and no progress whatsoever. He admired their determination, certainly. Their tenacity – hope. But just as their will was strong, his own needed to be stronger, not only for his Family's sake, but the Heroes as well.

Castello's corruption did not discriminate between humans, metas and aliens. And while infection may be difficult, seeing as only the weak-willed could be affected, it didn't mean it was impossible. More than that, should the Heroes come to realize the presence of the corruption at all, it would in turn draw them ever closer to Castello himself, and should the Don of the Rovino realize that the Heroes were closing in on his trail, he would kill every last one of them. None would stand a chance, and the world would fall to chaos.

At least this way, with the Justice League's ire directed at the Vongola, Tsuna and his family would be able to limit their exposure to the Rovino. Castello, after all, was their problem to deal with, they could not allow anyone to interfere.

As the last of the mosca disappeared into the dark, Gokudera approached. "Transfer of the children is finished and I expect that Reborn has already left, you know what to do Hayato."

The bomber bowed. "Of course, Tenth."

And without managing to show any of the embarrassment he happened to feel (because really Hayato? We've been over this whole bowing thing of yours), Tsuna watched as his friend took a breath, and set the building ablaze.

**-(7)(7)(7)-**

_Orphanage of St. Clair – Exterior_

His suit was like the swordsman's, plain black but with red in place of blue; his mask like a roar, all teeth and rage, and with a single breath, the entire orphanage was awash in flame. Dick cursed. Well fuck. The mobsters had started cleanup. That meant things had just gotten a whole lot harder.

The absolute worst traits to find in any villain: powerful, brutal and intelligent enough to cover their tracks. These mobsters, if one could truly call them that, clearly knew exactly what they were doing, and if they were anywhere near as good as they currently seemed to be, there would be nothing left for the League to follow up on by the time they were done.

Many of their numbers had already reluctantly acknowledged they would not be getting through the barrier in time to save the civilians, but had hoped to find some clue to the circumstances surrounding the attack once the mobsters had gone. But now, they wouldn't even have that to fall back on. They were literally watching themselves be sabotaged before they even had a chance to act, and it was beyond frustrating.

Almost immediately, Dick heard his communicator come to life. "Start recording and make note of anything and everything you can find." Bruce spoke without preamble. "Dick you have the North end. Tim, the South. I will take the West and the Arrows will handle the East. We need to gather as much intel as we can while it's still present on the scene. Focus on faces, identifying characteristics and items or actions that might help explain the mobsters' MO."

"Right, I'm on it." Tim replied.

"Already in position." Dick himself added, initiating the recording feature in his mask's ocular lenses.

Above him, the sounds of impact after impact, explosion after explosion rained down upon his being, the air all around him thick with desperation and the now ever encompassing sense of failure. The fact, undeniable to them all, that they had lost. That they had been beaten, and worst of all, bested without their enemy so much as lifting a finger in response. Unable to do a thing, as innocents, as children were slaughtered right before their very eyes.

And Dick knew, without a doubt, that that failure would scar; would fester inside their collective consciences and color their every interaction with the mobsters from this point on. Because they would meet again, of that Dick was certain. He only hoped though, that the traumas they experienced here wouldn't be enough to drive his fellow heroes into doing something they might eventually regret. He had seen it happen to more than enough cops down in Gotham to know there wasn't at least the possibility. He glanced up towards Superman, no matter how good the person may be. 

"No! No! No – No – No – No – NO!" Clark roared, still heedlessly trying to force his way through the barrier, his every cry perpetuated by a thundering crash against the barrier's still pristine surface. He then turned towards his fellow heroes.

"Why are you all just standing there!?"

"Because we've been at this for fifteen fucking minutes Superman and haven't made an inch of progress!" Canary called back, sounding just as frustrated. "And they're literally about to escape! The best we can do now is gather as much information as we can, so we're prepared the next time we encounter them."

"There are CHILDREN in there! In the machines! They're taking them!"

"Don't you think we know that! We'll get them back. But deny it all you want, we've lost Superman. All you're doing now is losing face by blowing your composure!"

And with a furious cry, Clark turned to rage at the ice once more, eyes ablaze, heat beams as wide and as powerful as they could possibly go. And, as many had expected, nothing. It seemed only the mobsters themselves held the ability to affect the barrier. To slip past it's seemingly nigh-impenetrable walls, given how the bullets the sniper had used managed to pass through so easily.

It was obvious that these were no ordinary crime family goons they were dealing with here. For one, they were all clearly metas of some sort. Red with his fire breath, Blue with his heart stopping ability (It had taken them a while to figure that one out) and the bandaged spectre's power over warp. Which in turn, considering all other factors, likely meant that the dome that stood before them, was due to  _him,_ the final man among their enemy ranks.

Clad in white instead of black, with soft orange trimmings alongside a matching tie, the mask that he wore was the plainest out of them all. A simple porcelain frown, pale as snow and drawing all who looked upon it to the man's unflinching gaze, his eyes of liquid fire. Dick shivered at the sight of them. He must be their leader, given the way the spectre seemed to have addressed him and how he had instructed Red to begin the burning of the orphanage.

Grimly, Dick watched as Blue sheathed his sword, the last of the remaining stragglers who had escaped building now dead at his feet. At the same time, Red straightened himself up, the remains of the orphanage only cinders and tinder. For a moment, Dick shut his eyes, drawing in a slow steadying breath as he took in the aftermath. It was over, for now.

Then with a nod each towards the man in white, both Red and Blue slipped through the still-open portal, the spectre behind them quick to follow suit, leaving only the leader to remain. He stood there for a moment then, regarding all the gathered heroes, the weight of his gaze alone bearing down upon them all. This was him. This was the man that had stopped them, that had beaten them, all on his own and with a single ability.

A fact, all to easily confirmed, as the man then snapped his fingers and the ice that formed the dome was suddenly flame and heat, a massive inferno crashing down and inward upon all that lay within. Immediately, Dick leapt from where he stood, the fires spreading quickly across the area, engulfing all that they touched.

From the corner of his eye, Dick could see Kaldur and Aquaman attempting to put down the flame, their efforts quickly growing as other Leaguers joined in their attempt. But before they could properly rally a response, the fires, to the shock of all, sputtered and died as rapidly as they had formed, their master gone alongside the bodies of every single victim butchered in the mobsters' attack.

"Bastards wouldn't even let us have the remains." Green Arrow cursed beneath his breath, shoulders tense and fists shaking at his sides.

Without even turning, Dick could sense Bruce's approach, question out of his mouth before he could even realize he was speaking. "Who are they?" He spoke, the anger in his tone surprising even to himself. The frustration and failure suddenly all too real. All too suffocating.

Bruce was quiet for a moment. "I don't know..."

"... But I will soon enough."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yeah, I've just decided that i'm just going to put all of the one/two/three-shots all into the same story, because I can't be bothered to make new stories for each of them haha. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed part one of this two-shot!

**Establishing Empire:**

 

As the world recovers from the Tragedy of St. Clair, the Vongola move to establish their position.

 

_LexCorp Executive Offices - Metropolis, Delaware: January 15th 2017_

 

_“It’s has now been one week since the tragedy that shook the world. As of now, an estimated 50 civilian casualties and nearly a dozen kidnappings are speculated to have occurred on the scene, as stated by Justice League and Police officials. The incident occurred on the grounds of St. Clair on December 8th, 2017, wherein a group of masked superhumans, alongside a large robotic escort, proceeded to imprison, slaughter and abduct all inhabitants currently present within the orphanage. Details regarding the development of the situation and the presumed motives and identities of the attackers have not yet been disclosed but are expected to be released to the public shortly after the-.”_

 

_“After a week of extensive investigation, the Justice League has finally allowed the public access to the grounds of St. Clair. The many Heroes present during the great tragedy, are now holding a personal candle-lit vigil in remembrance to those that so unfairly lost their lives. The vigil is expected to be held for the remainder of the week, and is open for any to come and pay their respects. Billionaire Tech Mogul Bruce Wayne has also reached out to the Town of Collinsville, and has charitably donated over 2 million dollars to the municipal government to aid rebuilding the old orphanage and to erect a memorial for the lives-.”_

 

_“Justice League? More like USELESS League! The bad guys were right THERE! THERE. Literally right in front of them, and for fifteen bloody minutes all of these so-called heroes just stood there and let those innocent children meet the sword. And yes, yes. I know what you’re thinking. Eye witness accounts of the events have already confirmed that the heroes did in fact try their hardest, tried every possible method they could to get through the big bad barrier, but that is no excuse!_

 

_The indomitable Justice League failed, ladies and gentlemen, and it cost the lives of nearly a hundred civilians. They should have seen this coming! They should have been better prepared! And don’t even get me started on what’s being done to find the abductees and the attackers that took them! It’s been a week already, ladies and gentlemen. A week. A full Sunday to Saturday stretch, and still not a peep from our so-called ‘heroes’._

 

_Just who are these masked mobsters? What were their motives? Where did they take those children? All questions the Justice League has yet to answer, as they’ve either chosen to keep the information to themselves, or have no idea where to even begin looking! Either way, that means bad news for us folks at home, ladies and gentlemen. Very bad news._

 

_After all, these mobsters are still out there. Still very much at large. And if even the mighty Justice League lacks the strength to stop them, we all have to ask ourselves, are any of us really safe?”_

 

With a soft tap, Lex muted the plasma screen. “Oh Gordon, you truly do have a way with words don’t you.” He spoke to no one in particular, sipping away at his coffee as he scanned through the latest set of pilfered investigative reports concerning the the Tragedy of St. Clair. Despite his clear biases, as was his job, considering how much Lex paid him, the man did have a point.

 

Just what sort of threat did these mobsters really pose, when even the League’s finest was unable to contend with them? Who were they? Where did they come from? And was this particular instance of victory only a one time event, or did these new arrivals really possess the strength to make this a true a one-sided pattern? All factors that needed to be considered. Because if these mobsters really did have that sort of power in their arsenal, not only would the League, but also the Light, need to re-adjust their plan of action depending on where the mobsters stood. Yea or Nay for the ‘advancement’ of humanity.

 

Lex rolled his eyes. Talk about cliche, Savage. The man could have at least spiced it up a bit.

 

Still, where to even begin? Now that was the question. Beyond the fact that the attack occurred on the orphanage grounds, no clues have yet to be discovered regarding exactly why St. Clair in particular was chosen as the target for the assault. Investigations looking into the staff and caretakers working at the establishment also showed no signs of a connection between any of the employees and the assailants who attacked them, including the director of Orphanage, her head of staff and any of their extended relations.

 

No illegal dealings. No secret research connections. No links to any persons of power. That meant, that the mobsters had either chosen the target at random, highly unlikely considering the strength of their abilities and level of organization; it would simply be a waste of time, or they were looking for something else that only they were aware of. Lex hummed in thought. Something to do with the orphans they took perhaps? But then, why them in particular? What made those children special from any other tyke walking to and from school?

 

He had considered for a moment it might have been because the children were potential metas, but then discarded the notion outright given that even the most hopeful outlook regarding that particular probability was exceedingly low. After all if finding more than a single meta in a single town was uncommon enough, what were the chances of having over ten in a single building? Now that was just ludicrous, and considering the mobsters had taken well over twelve, Lex was fairly sure it was not because of their genes. But if not that, then what?

 

A pensive frown. What to do? What to do? There were far too many unanswered questions here than Lex was personally comfortable with, and seeing as zero was the only value he didn’t have issue with, that should certainly put things into perspective. Lex turned towards Mercy.

 

“Mercy, be a dear and put me in touch with Ra’s and Savage will you? I think it’s about time our little club reconvene to discuss some of the more recent developments as of late. I will contact Queen Bee myself and establish connection with the Brain and Black Manta through our affiliates in Belle Reve. Oh and once you’ve finished that, please ask Otis to get one of the interns to grab me a sandwich from the deli down the street. No need to specify. The man knows how I like it.”

 

The cyborg bowed her head. “Right away Mr. Luthor.”

 

(7)-(7)-(7)

 

_Valeria Hotel, Meeting Room 2 - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018_

 

The Valeria hotel was a recent addition to the Gotham skyline. It was a massive building, boasting well over a thousand separate rooms for guest and services. Its architecture, a meshing of traditional Sicilian and modern contemporary, of elegant arches and spiraled columns accentuated by sleek hard edges and smooth flat planes.

 

On the ground floor, and within the building’s outer east wing, several men could be found gathered around a freshly polished mahogany table, in high backed seats, organized four on each side along the length of the table. Spaced out amongst their ranks, were unopened bottles of the finest wine, held within buckets of the purest silver filled with melting ice. At the center of the table, was a lone vase containing only a single red rose, picked in full bloom and the exact same shade as the colour of blood.

 

The men were talking, voices low as they took in the sight of each of their fellows with wary eyes and thinned lips. No one yet, had moved to even touch the wine.

 

“I assume, we all know why we have reluctantly gathered here tonight.” The first man began, large and heavy set. His snow white features set into an ugly scowl as he toyed with the harpoon he held in this hands.

 

Pink eyes grew narrowed. “On any other occasion I'm sure we'd all much rather shoot ourselves in the foot than willingly cooperate with each other in any way, but as of right now, I must, with great difficulty... implore you gentlemen. Let us deal with our current situation first and then we can go back to shooting holes in each other. Hmm?” the Whale grunted. “What is everyone’s current status?”

 

“Why, we’re all doing just fan-fucking-tastic really. In fact, we couldn't be better. Thanks for asking.” Another man replied, voice like the sound of scraping leather, his features a patchwork of different coloured skins; pale, dark, tan, green, all horrifyingly bound together.

 

“How the fuck do you think we're doing you brainless behemoth.” Stitches snapped, jagged lips turned low into an impressive scowl. “Their practically right on our fucking doorsteps.  They've already killed off and run out nearly all that's left of the smaller gangs in the city, and now, they're looking right at us; eyes like starving animals.”

 

“Peace, Stitches-dono. Now is not the time to seek fruitless conflict and petty squabbles. If we are, in any way, to set up a defense against our oncoming foes we cannot allow ourselves to fall prey to our mutually shared ‘dislike’ for one another.”

 

“Oh fuck off Akahara.” Stitches retorted. “You only say that because you're head's not already on their fucking chopping block. Do you have any idea how many men, how many resources I've lost to these fucking monsters? The answer is no. You don't. So don't you dare tell me to cool my shit you stupid Jap, not when it's my head they're coming after first.”

 

“And we are all so very grateful for the sacrifice you and Intergang have so selflessly taken on for us.” Cobblepot chimed in, voice rolling into a drawl. “But let's get down to business shall we. We know they're here. We know they want us gone, and that they'll do anything they can to accomplish this. So, what do you we do?”

 

“Keel over and die, that's what, you fucking flightless bast-.”

 

And steel met mahogany with a resounding crash. “Shut the fuck up Denetto.” Tobias spoke, features plain, but his voice, a growl. “Your incessant prattle is getting on my nerves.”

 

Then with a hard yank, Tobias pulled his harpoon free of the table. “Yes. Yes. You're precious Intergang is currently being raped six ways from Sunday. What of it? Do you really not think we haven't had our own fair share of problems with these cretins? We’ve all been crippled in one way or another. Don't think you're so special you filthy lout. So now zip up that revolting mouth of yours and listen, or so help me I will throw you through another window “Johnny”,” the albino finished, leveling his spear towards the other man.

 

Instantly, Stitches shot from his seat, blaster in hand. “Why you massive-.”

 

“Oh for God's sake, sit down Stitches! Fighting amongst ourselves is not going to improve our situation. And whether you like it or not, this alliance is our the best and only hope all of us have of surviving this war. So let’s all calm the fuck down, and talk.” Mario ground out, features grim as he stared down his fellow crime lords.

 

Unbelievable. Utterly unbelievable. To think that in just a matter of weeks, the most powerful crime lords in all of Gotham could be reduced to such a level. It was maddening. All that they had, all that they had built - everything was on the precipice of collapse, and nothing, absolutely nothing that they had tried had been able to reverse it.

 

Mario heaved a sigh. The motion slowly dropping tensions throughout the room, a physical representation of all the frustration that they each clearly felt. With a reluctant huff, Stitches dropped back into his chair. After all, it wasn't as if the man had a choice anyway. This united front was essentially all that stood between them, and complete assimilation into the Vongola.

 

As the very last of the Falcones, he shivered at the thought. He could not and would not allow the legacy and prestige his family had fought so long for, to fall so low. Gotham had been synonymous to the Falcones, practically since the time of its conception. This was their city, and despite having fallen into difficult times with the rise of the meta-human arms race, Mario was determined to ensure that they would not be going anywhere.

 

The question now, was how? How do they go about besting gods as mere men? Because, individually, they had already tried everything.

 

Force had been immediately useless, considering just who it was they were competing against. Bribery would get them nowhere. And blackmail and extortion were only good when one actually happened to possessed at least some modicum of knowledge regarding their opponents, of which they essentially had none.

 

So what do they do? What could they do?

 

The answer was simple. There was now, only one plausible course of action that Mario could conceive that would allow them to at least somewhat even the odds against these accursed clams. He simply hoped that his other fellow dons would be able to put their petty grievances aside long enough to at least consider the option.

 

With the near constant buzz surrounding the event, it hadn't exactly been difficult for the young Falcone to link the Vongola to the massacre at St. Clair. The lack of a conceivable goal. The swift and brutal nature of their methods. The masks that they all wore. All were signature traits of the Vongola’s modus operandi. But by far the most damning clue of all, would be the machines that the mobsters had used during the attack.

 

They were the exact same build and make as the countless soulless automatons currently laying waste to the entire Gotham underground. Tall and with significant bulk, they were massive brutish things just barely resembling the shape of men. And their most distinctive feature, the dome shaped head that sat atop their shoulders, with three metal tubes extending from their jaws.

 

Along the grapevine, he had learned that the Vongola referred to the machines as Mosca, given the fly like headpiece possessed by all supposed variations. But, that was beside the point. The mobsters at St. Clair had been using the exact same mechanical infantry, belonging solely to those fucking clams.

 

Coincidence? Not fucking likely, Mario mentally scoffed. There wasn't a single doubt in his mind that the Vongolas weren't at least partly, if not entirely responsible for the massacre at the orphanage. And if he was correct, this just might be their one and only chance to get the League on their side. After all, _‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’_ Mario thought wryly. Practically anyone with eyes and at least half a brain would be able to tell that after such a devastating defeat, the heroes would be itching for a rematch. And if the sudden spike in criminal arrests all across the country was anything to go by, they wanted it bad.

 

Now, he just hoped he wouldn't automatically be shot, just by voicing the idea. A truly real, and very tragic possibility.

 

(7)-(7)-(7)

 

_Valeria Hotel, Exterior - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018_

 

 _“Are you sure we can trust Cobblepot?”_ Superboy frowned, peering steadily through his binoculars towards the meeting across the street. His high vantage point from atop the closest apartment, giving him full view of the council through the windows at their side. It looked like the mobsters had just apparently ended their argument, with Stitches from Intergang reluctantly lowering himself back into his seat. _“How does he know that the clams will turn up tonight?”_

 

 _“He doesn’t.”_ Tim mentally responded, sitting off to the side, legs crossed and fingers flying across his keyboard. _“But considering the fact that essentially every single obstacle standing between them and complete control of the entire Gotham underground is sitting inside that room, i’d say it’s a fairly good bet that they’re going to show. Suspicious or not.”_

 

With a final click, Tim’s laptop chimed. “Password Accepted - Security Access: Granted.” Bingo.

 

Tim smiled. _“Alright guys. I’ve got the cameras and emergency alarms. If the clams show, we’ll know long before they reach the mobsters.”_

 

 _“Good job Robin.”_ Nightwing replied from his perch further down, his figure crouching in one of the nearby trees. _“Alright everyone, keep your eyes peeled and keep noise levels to a minimum. If the Penguin was telling the truth, then these guys are the real deal, and are probably already expecting this to be a trap. We have to be careful. Miss Martian, Raven, anything on patrols?”_

 

_“Nothing yet, Nightwing. East corridors are clear.”_

 

_“Main too. Nothing but sleepy maids and servers so far.”_

 

_“Copy that. Report back the moment either of you find anything.”_

 

_“Roger.”_

 

_“Will do.”_

 

Back atop the neighboring building, Tim brought up a map of everyone’s locations. In addition to M’gann and Raven on patrol and Dick on sentry duty, there were four others working alongside them to ensure the success of this potential sting.

 

Oracle was monitoring for any incoming and outgoing messages, ready and waiting for any chance at an interception, or, if need be, send distress a call for backup. On standby, were Zatanna and Rocket, their magically enhanced cooperator prison their final trump card against anything the mobsters could pull. And finally, directing the entire operation - Bruce, in disguise and already inside the conference room. After all, in comparison to whomever it was that they were escorting, no one ever notices when a guard gets swapped.

 

They were essentially prepared for anything. But they still had to be wary. If the footage the Penguin had relayed to them was accurate and these really were the same attackers that had beaten them at St. Clair, then they would have to be beyond careful. And judging from what they had seen in the video, if they weren’t right on the money, they were definitely close.

 

According to the Penguin, he had just barely enough time to snag the short clip from one of his hidden security feeds, before making his escape from the Ice-berg lounge.

 

_One moment, all was calm. Soft jazz wafting through the air, waiters and waitresses weaving back and forth from kitchen to tables, the lights dim and the mood mellow. And then the next thing anyone knew - pandemonium, as a bleeding and haggard Don Beretti staggered into the building, just as the entire front entrance of the Lounge was blasted apart, revealing the exact same machines Tim and the others had seen during the attack the orphanage._

 

_And without a word, they strode into the club, a tall silver-haired figure emerging from amongst them, out from behind their mechanical ranks. Clad in a striped black and canary jacket, with matching pants and a fur lined hood, the figure leveled a blade towards the still struggling Beretti._

 

 _“_ **_Found you, you tainted trash_ ** _.”_

 

And then the had feed cut off. Tim pursed his lips.

 

After almost two weeks of constant searching, they finally had a name. A new, rapidly growing power within the criminal underworld; small in number, but exceedingly powerful and sweeping like a plague throughout the entire Eurasian continent. They called themselves The Vongola, and they were beyond dangerous.

 

Active for barely even a year, and they had already amassed a track record long and gruesome enough to rival even the most well established and brutal of super villains. Their literal debut into the global underground - the rumoured butchering of the entire Artiglio crime famiglia, one of the largest and most powerful in all of southern Italy. And since then, their power and infamy has only spread further and further across all criminal circles. Their very name, initially eliciting bewildered disbelief and comical snark, now bringing about nothing but sheer unadulterated terror to the minds of those that knew of their unpredictable and unexplainable fury.

 

It was estimated that, as of now, The Vongola have slaughtered well over two dozen of the world's most powerful crime organizations. From The Demone in Tuscany, to The Black Circle Triad of Singapore. To The Zanna. The EverRed Cartel. And Jigoku Ryuu. Some of the most feared and venerated crime rings in each of their respective continents (not countries - _continents_ ) _,_ equipped with the very latest in terms of state-of-the-art weaponry and some even possessing their own metahuman divisions. These were criminal giants, operating on an international stage. And without pause, the Vongola had left each and everyone of them, broken and crippled and scattered, and all without even slightest of clues as to - why.

 

Why them? Why not essentially anyone else, when in some cases, they were literally over half a world away from Vongola territory?

 

There was only one explanation Tim could come up with. Seeing as all the targets that the Vongola had thus far deleted had no prior connection to one another, beyond being ruthless and criminal, it was more than clear to Tim, that that the Vongola were looking for something. And, horrifyingly enough picking off entire organizations at random as a process of elimination. But what could they possibly be looking for? Weapons? Tech? People?

 

A frown. And if that was the case. Why attack St. Clair? Why take the children? Could those kids have possibly been what the Vongola had been looking for this entire time? Tim highly doubted that was the case. More plausible would be that they had already found what they had been looking for, and as such, had now horrifyingly moved onto the next stage of their operation. And one where clearly, the lives of both civilians and mobsters alike, were completely inconsequential.

 

A frown. Whatever went down tonight, beit from the mobsters plotting inside the hotel or from the Vongola members that come for their heads, they were going to get some answers. Both for themselves and for the fates of those the Vongola had taken. They had to.

 

(7)-(7)-(7)

 

_Valeria Hotel, Meeting Room 2 - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018_

 

“Are you out of your fucking mind Falcone!?” Stitches roared. “Those sanctimonious shitstains would no sooner lock us up than lend us a hand you stupid fool. What the hell are you even thinking!?”

 

“That it's better to be down and alive, than beaten and dead.” Cobblepot intervened. “Worst case scenario, the League may lock us up, but at least then we would still have the chance to rebuild. If the Clams get to us first, then we lose even the possibility of fucking breathing let alone starting over. I, for one, am in agreement with little Mario’s proposal.”

 

“As am I.” Akahara chimed in. “Regrettably, the Vongola are far too powerful a force for us to handle alone. Cooperation with the League may just be our only option left.”

 

“Cowards then, the lot of you.” The Whale growled. “I’d no sooner die than grovel at the feet of those idiots in tights. Where is your pride?”

 

“Hah! As if you’re one to talk about pride Whale, considering how you ran away from Metropolis when the going got tough.” Mario retorted. “Had too much trouble with their big blue boy scout signor?”

 

“How dare you.” Tobias hissed, slowly rising from his seat, harpoon already firmly in hand.

 

From his place beside the doors, Bruce watched disinterestedly as the mobsters continued to bicker. His features neutral, as he steadily took in all the information he saw, heard and even smelled. Even if the Vongola didn’t show tonight as Cobblepot had assured, the information regarding their activities and the corresponding effects their actions were having on the city was already valuable enough.

 

Just from the gathered mobsters idle chatter, he had confirmed that the purpose of the Vongola in Gotham was neither funds, nor material in nature. That their tech was on par with, and in many cases even above the most advanced of apokoliptian weaponry. That they were rapidly buying up and stealing away, larger and larger sections of territory from the other famiglias, and either scaring off or completely destroying all those that tried to resist.

 

And Bruce - Bruce did not like the sound of that. Because it meant that the Vongola were not simply in Gotham to deal with a few outstanding issues, but rather they were looking to set down a permanent presence in the city. They could not allow that to happen.

 

The Vongola were already dangerous enough in the short bursts that they've been coming in. If they managed to legitimately set down roots, not even in just the city, but rather anywhere in the entire country, it would be an entirely new monster of a situation. Their enemies would quite literally be in their own backyard, and unlike their regular run-of-the-mill super villains, the Vongola we're already confirmed and clearly experienced hero killers.

 

Byakko. Doctor Light. Jaguar. Legionary. And countless other heroes who have coincidentally ceased all activity, in the wake of reports sighting the Vongola in their midsts. As of now, only a handful of bodies and graves have been found thus far.

 

It astounded Bruce. That so many preventable tragedies could have occurred under their watch. That so many good innocent people had perished without anyone knowing, and that the Justice League, the most prolific and influential hero organization the world over, had only just found out that they had even happened at all. It was a gut wrenching revelation.

 

But, even more than that, the fact the Vongola had managed to even suppress the information at all, not to mention for so long, reflected just how powerful a threat they had rapidly become. The planning and organization required for such a feat - utterly insane, given the sheer interconnectedness of their world’s day and age.

 

All evidence would have needed to be destroyed. All relevant connections - snuffed. And all potential witnesses - silenced before any chance of spreading the information could be reached. Even just for one hero, it was a truly monumental task, and the Vongola, if their estimations were correct, had killed nearly twenty, and that’s not including any other unregistered vigilantes they might have potentially crossed paths with.

 

Bruce furrowed his brows. They needed to be stopped. Earlier in the year, they had taken advantage of the League’s divided attention between The Reach and Rimbor, to rapidly expand their criminal influence. Doing whatever they pleased. Now, all eyes were on them. The totality of the League united against their newest foe and fueled not only by duty, but also the right and furious intent that justice be done for all the suffering that they had -

 

\- A snort. “As if involving the League would make any difference.” Inzerillo cut in, leaning back into his seat. “The Vongola have already bested the League once before. What makes you think this situation would be any different, even if you bring them in.”

 

The other mobsters were silent. The gravity of the statement clearly ringing true, as much as Bruce hated to admit it. The Vongola had indeed beaten the League at St. Clair, and had done so with minimal effort. It was a hard truth to swallow, and one many Leaguers were still having issues coming to terms with even now.

 

But Gotham would not be another St. Clair, Bruce would not allow it. The League would never allow it. Never again would they be bested so easily. The Vongola may have taken the first battle, but it would be the League that won this war, just as they have every other war before it.

 

“The Vongola have one victory under their belt. That does not mean that they cannot be beaten.” Akahara spoke. “I cast my vote with the League.”

 

“Here, Here.” Cobblepot nodded. “Besides, if we play our cards right, both sides just might end up removing each other for us in the long run.”

 

“And giving us the opportunity to reap the spoils once they've finished tearing each other apart.”

 

Disturbingly, Inzerillo merely smiled in response. “Do you really think it would be that easy?” He began, reaching into his suit. “Do not underestimate the Vongola my friends. The League may be powerful, but even their strongest lack the mettle to actually finish their foes. The Vongola have no such compunctions.” Withdrawing his hand from his suit, the elderly mobster revealed a gleaming serrated knife. “They are cold. Calculating. And most important of all, they already have more than enough experience when it comes to exterminating metas.”

 

And then Inzerillo tossed the knife upwards. The blade spinning once, twice - before landing in a palm many years younger than the one that had thrown it. Bruce tensed immediately.

 

“Shishishishi. Take it from me. I killed two, just last week.” The Vongola grinned.

 

Shit.

 

(7)-(7)-(7)

 

_Valeria Hotel, Exterior - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018_

 

“Fuck.” Connor swore, peering through the binoculars towards their newest arrival. He was a blonde, clad in the same jacket as the figure they had seen on the video feed, with bangs so low they covered his eyes and a grin large enough to rival even the joker's. He also wore a tiara atop his head, Connor absently noted.

 

Casually, the man tossed his feet up onto the table, toying with the knife he had brought out before and chuckling ever so darkly. It was also one of the strangest laughs the half-kryptonian had ever heard.

 

 **“Shishishishishi. Now, now, what’s this?”** The clearly, apparent Vongola began, voice bleeding through their connected comms. **“So scared you can’t even speak? Hah. And here I was expecting more from the biggest baddest crime lords in all of Gotham city.”**

 

A shrug. **“Oh well. I’ll get you folks talking sooner or later. Well, more like screaming really, but still - close enough.”**

 

 **“.... What have you done with Inzerillo?”** Falcone spoke.

 

 **“Do I really need to answer that?”** The Vongola replied, casually miming the knife slipping across his neck. Fucking shit, Connor cursed again. The bastard was going to kill them, he knew without a doubt. Quickly, he dropped the binoculars, turning back towards Robin and sharing a nod. They had no time to waste.

 

Connor furrowed his brows. _“M’gann. Raven. Nightwing, status report.”_ No response. Connor frowned. _“Guys? Guys, come on, status reports! Damn it.... Oracle?”_ Silence. Fuck.

 

“We have to get down there now.” Connor spoke, rounding onto Robin as the other made their approach. “Mental link is down. The others are in danger.”

 

“And we definitely have more than one Vongola down there, I know. Come on. We have to hurry!” And Robin broke into a sprint, firing off his grappling gun just as he cleared the edge of the building. Connor was quick to follow suit, starting up his jump after a few solid steps to build up momentum. Then the next thing he knew, he was on the lawn of the hotel, buried half a foot deep in a crater that he had made and with a groaning Robin sprawled prone atop of him. What the hell? How did...?

 

A sudden squeal swiftly answered his question. Off to the side and about a dozen meters from where they had landed, clad in black and canary and currently hopping from foot to foot - a man, tall, lean and with one of the worst hair and glasses combinations imaginable. A neon green mohawk and dark red glasses. Gross.

 

“OH MY GOODNESS, the cuddles! You two are so cuuuute!~ Oooh, pictures! Pictures! I need pictures!”

 

Rolling off of him, Robin let out a groan. “Red and Green? What? Is it Christmas already?” He huffed, trying to stagger to his feet, arm rising to shield his eyes away from the sudden bombardment of camera flashes. “And pictures of other people require consent to be taken!”

 

“And we are not cute!” Connor roared, leaping up from his prone position to charge at the other man, arms spread wide in an attempt at a take-down.

 

With ease, the other Vongola shifted to the side, slipping right past Connor’s flank before driving knee right into his gut, and then slamming him right back into the dirt with a punch to his kidney. The Kryptonian groaned, momentarily stunned by the strength of the hit.

 

“Bastard!” Robin hissed, rearing back to loose a volley of birdarangs aimed right for the mobsters chest. With a duck and a roll, the Vongola dodged the attack, flipping right back onto his feet before sending back a wink.

 

He smiled. “Gonna have to try better than that sweetie.” He sang, slowly dropping into a crouch. “Now, my turn~.” And the Vongola flashed forward, practically vanishing from view with a quick burst of speed.

 

It was only thanks to Tim’s own experience with the likes of Catwoman, Canary and Bruce that just barely allowed him to slip past a punch that would have easily had him dreaming up stars. Almost immediately afterwards, he leapt away, putting distance between himself and his attacker.

 

“Oooh. Impressive. You have good reflexes.” The Vongola spoke, sounding pleasantly surprised, the image of Tim's still tense posture reflected clearly on his red-rimmed shades. “Perhaps this won't be as boring as I thought it would.” Be chuckled lowly. “The question now though is: -.” And Tim dove towards the side, the ground upon which he had previously stood, now naught but a crater encompassing the mobsters fist.

 

“How long can you keep it up.”

 

Without missing a beat, Tim scoffed. “Hah. You kidding me? I can do this all night.” It was an obvious bluff, especially in an open area like this with almost next to no cover. But that was fine, all he needed was a moment.

 

Mr. Mohawk let out a chuckle, slowly pulling back his fist from the rubble that surrounded it. “I see. I see. Well that’s good then. It has been a while after all, since I’ve had a good tussle with a pair of boys as handsome as yourselves.” And then he spun back, completely side-stepping Connor’s second attempted charge, and driving a boot into the small of the Kryptonian’s back.

 

Connor staggered forward, quickly righting his position with a controlled roll, and glaring daggers at their opponent. Raising an arm, he wiped at the dirt speckled across his face. “Fuck you.” He growled, ears ringing with a mix of anger and indignation. He refused to be beaten by this fucking.... peacock.

 

The mobster waggled a finger. “Uh. Uh. Uh. Not until you take me out to dinner first darling~.” He giggled. “Oh, and just a heads up,” And then Conner realized, a knee had just been driven right into his jaw. His head snapping back, as the warm taste of metal steadily began to fill his mouth.

 

“I'm top only.”

 

(7)-(7)-(7)

 

_Valeria Hotel, Meeting Room 2 - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018_

 

The moment the mobster’s stated his intent, Dick was on autopilot. Bracing himself against the tree on which he was perched, he leapt towards the windows, arms up to shield his eyes, just as smoke began to fill the room. With a resounding crash, Dick dove through the glass, landing with a roll and quickly pulling out his eskrima sticks, just as Bruce himself emerged from the clouds, armed and cowled.

 

Together, the two of them converged on the self-identified Vongola, Bruce from the left and Dick, the right, the mobsters all around them scattering towards the very edges of the room. The blonde let out a laugh, shrill and almost more like a hiss, as he casually toyed with the knife he held in his hands. A whistle.

 

“Well now, isn’t this some fine royal treatment.” He grinned, slowly lifting his feet from atop the table. “The Bat and his first Bird just for me? You shouldn’t have.”

 

In spite of himself, Dick felt himself a growl. “Whatever it is you’re after here, forget it. You’re outnumbered and outgunned. Surrender now, and no one gets hurt.”

 

Setting his feet down onto the wood, the Vongola’s grin only widen. He then raised a hand, and brought two-fingers up towards Dick.  “Two things, little birdy, that you should probably know. First, considering the fact that I clearly not at all surprised by your presence, should probably inform you that we knew this was most likely a trap long before even deciding to drop by. And as such, have logically prepared ample preparation to avoid any sort of plan you peasants might have had to ‘detain us.’” He drawled. “That’s the reason why you’re telepathic connections are no longer working, and why your comms have all been remotely shut off.”

 

The Vongola clapped his hands together, knife laid flat against the the palms of his hands. “And Second-.” And with a flourish, the blonde pulled his hands apart, rising from his seat and revealing dozens upon dozens of wicked jagged knives floating between his palms. “-A Prince, is rarely ever, outgunned.”

 

Then with a clap, the knives were flying. Immediately, Dick bolted to the side, Bruce doing the same before each let loose a volley of birdarangs and batarangs. The mobster merely smiled, quickly producing another set of blades, from who knows where, and flicking them all in the direction of their assault. The attacks clashed mid-flight, the knives making a clean intercept with each and every target, sending them all, knives included, tumbling towards the ground.

 

Or at least, that's what Dick had assumed would happen. Instead, the knives froze mid fall with a snap of the mobsters’ fingers, before quickly re-orienting to face their new intended targets. Eyes flitting back to glance at their rear, Dick could also see that the knives he thrown before had now also risen back into the air as well.

 

“Shishishishishi. You're going to have to try better than that.” The blonde grinned, flicking his wrist to reveal another set of razor sharp blades. “Now, shall we dance?”

 

Bruce moved first. Loosing a second volley of batarangs towards the blonde and quickly diving forwards. As Dick had expected, the knives surrounding the Vongola immediately moved to defend, flying towards projectiles as Bruce launched himself at the enemy. With a resounding crash, the batarangs exploded upon impact with the blades, raining dust and smoke and knives all across the area.

 

Then a clash. Another. And another after that, and from the thick clouds of gray, the blonde leapt forth, grin still plastered firmly upon his lips, cheeks scratched and marred with the thinnest of cuts, coat covered in debris. With a click, he landed atop of the mahogany table with barely even a sound, knives flying from his fingertips. Within seconds Bruce also re-emerged, four gleaming blades sticking out of his reinforced kevlar suit, but still looking no worse for wear.

 

Now Dick was the one to move, swiftly drawing his eskrima sticks from his back and leveling the metal towards the Vongola. “Last chance to come peacefully. Otherwise, we won’t be held responsible for how many broken bones you’ll have by the end.”

 

Another laugh, and Dick moved without hesitation, sprinting forward to close their distance, and lashing out with two solid swings towards the face of the mobster. With a near infuriating grace, the Vongola weaved through both of the attacks, leaping off the table and drawing a hidden combat blade from the recesses of his coat, metal meeting metal with a rain of sparks. Then seeing a shadow at the very corner of his eye, Dick dropped low and swung out with a leg in attempt to sweep, Bruce coming in from the side with a kick of his own, higher and towards the head.

 

With wide eyes, Dick watched as the mobster let himself be swept off his feet, using the momentum of the fall to twist his body down, just narrowly avoiding the edge of Bruce’s foot, before lashing out with two kicks of his own. It was like a move straight out of tekken, stolen right from the list of Eddie Gordo himself. Damn it, Grayson! Now was not the time to be impressed!

 

Pivoting from his position, Dick pulled himself back, body just barely twisting out of the blonde’s way as a boot came swinging right past by his head, trailing the faintest tint of scarlet. With a soft thud, Bruce landed at his side, also unharmed, but the very edges of his cape - seared and burnt.

 

Rising back up to his feet, the mobster spoke. “Damn, you guys are good. If I was even just a slightest bit slower, I would be unconscious by now. Shishishishi. Brachial plexus origin in the neck, or be knocked prone and risk being grappled. My, so the pasty ass dragon wasn’t kidding about you after all batsy.” Casually, the mobster took a stance, raising the combat blade as he gestured languidly with his other hand, the scattered knives littered across the room quickly gathering themselves around him.

 

Dick glanced towards Bruce. “Dragon?”

 

“Questions later.” Bruce replied, readying another set of batarangs. “For now, we need to focus on bringing in as many as we can and getting the other mob bosses out of here.”

 

“No.” Another voice spoke. “We’re not going anywhere.” And Dick turned to see Mario Falcone, leveling a fully charged apokoliptian laser pistol directly at the blonde. “You and your ilk have fucked with the wrong family, bastardo.”

 

By just the barest of fractions, the Vongola’s smile darkened. “Shishishi. Ohhh. Those are some very big words I hear, from a very dead peasant.”

 

Glancing around, Dick watched as every other mob boss, drew their arms. Falcone growled.

 

“Fuck you.” And he fired.

 

(7)-(7)-(7)

 

_Valeria Hotel, Exterior - Gotham City, New Jersey: January 15th, 2018_

 

This was probably one of the most obvious fucking stings Squalo had ever seen. All of their bitch ass “competitors”, for their soon to be established Varia branch, all together in a single enclosed room, with minimal security. Like what the fuck else could it possibly be? These idiots were fucking lucky they weren't here to just straight up kill them all.

 

_“Occupy them for a bit. Draw away the League's attention so that the rest of us can move undetected. We’re all already aware it's most likely a sting. Use that to your advantage, and take them by surprise instead. All we need is 20 minutes, tops. Oh, and as always, feel free to kill any tainted you find amongst their ranks.”_

 

And they had. Or at least, they had started to. Beyond Inzerillo, which Bel and Mammon had easily dispatched, there was still one more of the group that needed to be culled. The loud one, with the crazed eyes and disgusting patchwork skin. And considering the current state of things, he was more than certain Bel would also be killing him too soon enough as well.

 

Approaching casually from the side of the building, Squalo watched as Lussuria began a fight with one of the Kryptonian fucks and “the Batman’s” current pigeon protege. The peacock catching both of the little shits way off guard by intercepting their movement mid jump, before sending the little birdy rocketing into his alien friend.

 

Moving onward, the swordsman then languidly stepped to the side, the wall to his left blowing open to reveal a mass of writhing blue tentacles. Caught within, an unconscious Martian girl and a still struggling half-demon, both held imperiously aloft as Mammon calmly emerged through the opening, arms extended, tentacles emerging from the dark of her sleeves.

 

Catching sight of him, she spoke. “Squalo.”

 

“Mammon.” He responded back, watching detachedly as the illusory woman brought up her arms and flung the two heroines right into the dirt, just mere feet away from Lussuria’s chosen quarry. Within moments, the four little wretches had quickly huddled up, cursing loudly as they desperately attempted to wake the still unconscious Martian.

 

Scowling deeply, the demon rounded on the then approaching Lussuria and extending a hand and calling out the words. “Azarath Metrion Zinthos!”

 

Almost immediately, the peacock was blasted off his feet, pitch black and white energy striking the man dead on against his chest, sending him hurtling into a nearby spruce. He landed with a crash, the tree creaking dangerously as a genuine laugh escaped the pansy’s lips. Rising back to his feet, Lussuria smirked.

 

“Well at least one of us seems to be enjoying themselves.” Mammon spoke, tentacles retreating back into her sleeves. She turned towards him then, features shadowed by her darkened hood. “How goes the rest of the operation?”

 

Squalo let out a snort. “Fucking fantastic. Our shitty boss decided he was going to be a fucking no-show, your mini scientist friend just alerted me that over half the fucking men in tights are on their way here and apparently the stupid fucking new guy they stuck with us is now currently stuck in a fucking magically reinforced hamster ball.”

 

“So in other words, same as always?”

 

“Same as fucking always.” Squalo said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Well at least the vital things are going according to plan. What are the heroes’ ETA?”

 

“A few minutes at most, probably much less. Depends on which shithead the Gordon-bitch managed to get in contact with first.”

 

The esper hummed in thought. “Hmmm, well then. I guess we’ll just have to make sure they’re properly welcomed.” Steadily, two wisps of flame flared from her cloak, taking positions by her shoulders. Within moments, each had taken the form of a massive, fully loaded mini-gun, their internal gears slowly whirring to life.

 

Turning back towards the hotel lawn, she spoke. “Go. Deal with the situation inside. Lussuria and I will deal with the issues out here, and will alert you when anymore of the heroes arrive. Oh, and get Bel to do something about that idiot we’ve been stuck with. As nice as it would be to get rid of him, he has vital information that we can’t exactly let loose.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. And don’t forget to tell the alligator brat to start frying their comms now. We’ve let them get their signal out; it’s about time we snuff it.”

 

“Hm. Well you heard the man Verde.” The woman spoke into the air. “Chop chop. Time is money after all.” And with that, the woman strode forward, miniguns blazing to life as the stupid kids on the field split to avoid their fire. Turning back toward the hotel building, Squalo started forward once more, quickly reaching the shattered ground floor window that Grayson no doubt flung himself through once Bel dropped his cover.

 

Judging from the sounds coming from inside, they were still going at it too. Stepping in, Squalo surveyed the devastation. Most of the other mob bosses were pressed up against the sides of the room or ducking under cover, their eyes wide, breathing heavy and the majority, armed and firing. The table and chairs were all in pieces by this point, and a massive pool of wasted wine covered sizable chunk of the room’s dark wooden flooring. And weaving around it all, through all the broken glass, shattered wood and all that other shit, was Bel, grinning like the fucking psychopath he so happened to be, locked in combat with Wayne and Grayson.

 

And of course, he would have to be the one to do their actual work. Grumbling loudly beneath his breath, Squalo slipped through the broken window, and nonchalantly approached his intended target; back braced against a portion of the table that had fallen over, apokoliptian laser rifle held firm within his hands. Fucking tainted ass sap, didn’t even see him coming.

 

With a flick of his wrist, Squalo parted the fucker’s head, clean from his shoulders, the disgusting stitched skins putting up next to no resistance as the reinforced edge of the assassin’s blade slipped right between flesh, blood, bone and back again. From the side, a scream was quick to ring out, bullets and lobs of pure plasma suddenly flying his way. Loosing a rain-infused shockwave into his immediate area, Squalo let out a growl, projectiles freezing all around him.

 

“VOOIIIII!!! Playtime’s over bitches! You’re dealing with me now.”

 

(7)-(7)-(7)

 

“The Arrows have left Star city.”

_“The boy-scout is off to Gotham.”_

 

_“And the Flash is on his way as well.”_

 

**“Good. Shamal, you’re free to make contact. Byakuran, Kozato you may now begin your hostile takeovers....”**

 

**“... And yes, Dame-Tsuna, I do in fact have to refer to them as hostile...”**

 

**“... Do you really think Manheim and Black are just going to hand over control of their organizations just like that?...”**

 

**“... No, I do not care how the term makes you feel. The operations will most definitely be hostile and so will be referred to as such. Reborn out.”**

 

_“Oya, oya. Some things never really change do they?”_

 

“... Oh Tsuna-kun...”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for reading my new work! :D It's essentially a revamp to my old Of Justice and Policy fic a while back that I dropped because I had no idea how to continue it haha.... Now though, I plan on setting up all the background information and groundwork in a number of one-shots before diving into the main story line so hopefully this method works better!
> 
> Oh! And please feel free to leave any comments and criticism you might happen to have. Any and all feedback will be incredibly appreciated. Like for example, did I go to far with powering up the Vongola? Objectively i'm thinking maybe??? But I'm also factoring other aspects such as the fact that the League will eventually be getting their own Dying Will Flames sooner or later and that Castello is potentially going to be Biggest Big Bad this Universe has ever seen haha.....


End file.
